Ladies and Gentlemen of Panem, do not be alarmed; President Snow is here to assure you that you are safe. District Thirteen was destroyed 75 years ago. Katniss Everdeen was destroyed. There is no threat to you. Please continue on, you will be informed of more details as they unfold.
After designers refused to dress her for the Oscars, Melissa McCarthy launched her own clothing company
"When I go shopping, most of the time I’m disappointed," McCarthy said in the July issue of the magazine. "Two Oscars ago, I couldn’t find anybody to do a dress for me. I asked five or six designers — very high-level ones who make lots of dresses for people — and they all said no."
Instead, McCarthy walked the 2012 red carpet in a dress by Marina Rinaldi, a designer available at high-end deparment stores. While she looked great in the frock, the fact that designeers were unwilling or (even more implausable) unable to design a dress for the A-list star says a lot about the stigma still attached to plus-sized fashion.
…and instead of loud moans there are soft breathless sounds, skin touching, air growing humid and hot
Men want what they want.
So much of our culture caters to giving men what they want. A high school student invites model Kate Upton to attend his prom, and he’s congratulated for his audacity. A male fan at a Beyoncé concert reaches up to the stage to slap her ass because her ass is there, her ass is magnificent, and he wants to feel it. The science fiction fandom community is once again having a heated discussion, across the Internet, about the ongoing problem of sexual harassment at conventions — countless women are telling all manner of stories about how, without their consent, they are groped, ogled, lured into hotel rooms under false pretenses, physically lifted off the ground, and more.
But men want what they want. We should all lighten up.
It’s hard not to feel humorless as a woman and a feminist, to recognize misogyny in so many forms, some great and some small, and know you’re not imagining things. It’s hard to be told to lighten up because if you lighten up any more, you’re going to float the fuck away. The problem is not that one of these things is happening, it’s that they are all happening, concurrently and constantly.
These are just songs. They are just jokes. They are just movies. It’s just a hug. They’re just breasts. Smile, you’re beautiful. Can’t a man pay you a compliment? In truth, this is all a symptom of a much more virulent cultural sickness — one where women exist to satisfy the whims of men, one where a woman’s worth is consistently diminished or entirely ignored."
Stiles can’t help but trace the line from Derek’s broad shoulders to his waist as he walks away. Derek Hale was five-odd years older than Stiles, gorgeous and soft-voiced and totally out of Stiles’ league. Frankly, he was probably out of everyone’s league. What Derek was doing working as a deputy in a small town was something of a mystery.
“You going to gawp at my deputy all day or are you going to inappropriately tag along on a police investigation?” his dad asks, tapping him on the back of the head.